


Telaesthesia

by Mierin



Series: touch me and I will follow [7]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Soulmate AU, originally posted on tumblr and dA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierin/pseuds/Mierin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt hears the click-bang-whoosh of a bullet being released from a gun first. Then a soft gasp that is so incongruous he can’t help but take note of it. Everything blurs into a singular crimson mass after that.</p>
<p>Seconds later, he notices the searing pain that has shot through his side, and even as the hand he presses over his ribs comes away unbloodied, he knows.</p>
<p>He knows exactly who the person that has thrown themselves in front of the onrushing bullet is. You are his soulmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telaesthesia

I

In a world where every single person has someone they are destined for— someone who is made to perfectly complement them—the mechanism that links a couple together, that is meant to help them find each other, is seriously flawed in your opinion.

The pain of every injury, every punch and scrape and cut, that is received by one, is felt by the other.

It’s the farthest thing from a foolproof system and you sometimes wonder if your friends are right, perhaps you should start seeing other people instead of wasting your years looking for this elusive man you are supposed to love. But it is a system that has worked for your friends, so you keep wishing, and reviewing everything you have deduced about your mystery man in the hopes that something will jump out at you.

Your soulmate could be a soldier, or a vigilante, or a boxer, or a martial artist, or one of quite a few other professions; the only thing you know for certain is that he is a fighter, a warrior.

Because for as long as you can remember, you have carried the pain of wounds and bruises that you haven’t received. And for the past few weeks, it has only been getting worse, a lot worse. In fact, it is the most you have had to suffer since that horrible day when you were eight and you felt like your eyes were being scorched out of your head.

Every morning, you wake up with countless new aches. On days when they are particularly bad and you’re feeling a little bitter, you wonder if your soulmate—a man you’ve never met—is getting beaten up during the nights simply to spite you.

Today is another of the days when you are pondering that very same question as you walk home from work, because your idiot of a soulmate has garnered so many injuries that your entire body is a throbbing mass of pain.

Apart from that—and even that has begun to become the norm lately—everything else about your day has been normal. And then, as you’re passing through an area of Hell’s Kitchen that could never be called anything other than shady, you hear the sounds of a fight issuing from an alley whose entrance you are about to pass.

It takes you only a few seconds to decide to turn back and find a different path to your home- a fairly easy thing to do. But you stop in your tracks after taking barely two steps due to the shock of a fresh ache in your left arm. It is a stinging ache, the sort caused by knife wounds, and all of a sudden you feel the inexplicable urge to take a better look at this alleyway scuffle.

You sneak back to the mouth of the alley and find a rather lopsided fight taking place, one man against three but as you look closer, you realize that the single man in question is the vigilante the papers have been writing about constantly over the past few weeks.

Just as you realize this, one of the thugs lands a punch to the masked man’s side and pain blossoms in your own body. And the knowledge of who the masked man is hits you with the force of an onrushing train mere seconds later. You smile unconsciously in spite of your surroundings.

A vigilante then, you weren’t so far off in your estimate after all.

You have barely processed this new information when you notice one of the three men drawing away and scrambling for a gun lying on the ground a few feet away. You don’t even have to consider your decision, your feet break into a run without conscious thought.

And you think that maybe, just maybe, the universe is being a little bit kind to you after all _because you’re going to save him if it’s the last thing you do, damn it!!_

II

Matt hears the click-bang-whoosh of a bullet being released from a gun first. Then a soft gasp that is so incongruous he can’t help but take note of it. Everything blurs into a singular crimson mass after that.

Water splashing as if someone in flat-soled shoes was running as fast as they could manage. The thud of the bullet finding its mark, and lodging perilously close to bone. A short, painful—almost surprised—cry and a loud splash that corresponds with a living, breathing, person falling into dirtied water on lifeless concrete. The metallic, teeth-gnashing smell of blood on the air.

Seconds later, he notices the searing pain that has shot through his side, and even as the hand he presses over his ribs comes away unbloodied, he knows.

He knows exactly who the person that has thrown themselves in front of the onrushing bullet is. You are his soulmate.

It’s only a single moment of clarity but it is the knowledge that carries him through the mangled mess of the next few minutes and his treatment of the few remaining thugs borders on vicious. Because without conscious realization, the split second that it took for a bullet to sink into your body was all it took for him to give you his heart, almost as an attempt to heal the wound you have received for his sake.

One final blow to the stomach of the man that had shot the bullet and then he is kneeling over you, hands fluttering over the growing bloodstain on your side. And then he scoops you up in his arms as if you weigh nothing, and proceeds to exit the alley.

For your part, you simply stare at the man carrying you with bleary eyes, the mask is still covering most of his face but you think he seems worried, and his lips are moving frantically, giving breath to words you cannot comprehend. Straining, you make a great effort to understand.

“Stay with me,” he’s saying, over and over again, and you hear his words as if through water, muffled and unclear. The concern, and the heart-clenching desperation still make it across the distance.

You want to tell him that you’re okay, that everything’s going to be great. Because you’ve found him without quite meaning to, and you’re ever so relieved, ever so _happy_.

But you’re fading even as you soak in his warmth, and the movement of his lips returns to being an incomprehensible mass as your eyes fall shut and you see no more.

III (I)

When you come to again, you are lying in a strange bed—albeit with the softest sheets you have ever come across—in an unfamiliar apartment. You guess that it belongs to your soulmate.

As you struggle to get up, the man from last night enters your field of vision, in casual clothes now, and the realization that he is blind is like a puzzle piece falling neatly into place because the pain from all those years ago makes sense now.

“You’re awake,” he says, as he moves over to you and helps you sit up against the headboard with smooth, confident, easy motions- no hesitation, no fumbling, “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I suppose,” you tell him hesitantly, because this entire situation seems far too surreal for you, “I mean, I don’t feel like I’m dying any longer.” You manage a wry smile.

He tilts his head to the side and sits down on the edge of the bed, facing you, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same way you are.

“I can see, you know,” he says after a moment’s silence, answering the other question that has been troubling you, “just, not the way you can.”

You nod, still confused, but it’s not a matter you want to push in that moment.

“I’m Matt,” he says, a smile on his lips that you can also hear in the very notes of his voice, and he holds out his hand in your general direction.

“____,” you tell him, placing your hand in his and giving it a little squeeze instead of the handshake he had been expecting, “this feels like a dream- finally meeting you.”

You clap a hand over your mouth as soon as the words are out, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment because you can’t quite believe you just said that. But he doesn’t seem discomfited, or even shocked, all that registers on his face is faint amusement.

“I didn’t even think I had a soulmate,” he grows somber as he speaks, and his newly serious tone hints at some unknown depths of darkness, “never thought I deserved one.”

“Don’t say that,” your words are almost a sharp cry of protest, and you know he can tell just how much you care from the anguish in your voice. “I do watch the news, you know, and read the papers. And the way I see it, you’re doing what needs to be done for this city. That takes courage, and more than that, a good heart.”

 

“Thank you, I… thank you- that means a lot to me, more than you know,” his voice is soft, uncertain, but you can tell that every word comes from his heart.

You smile, and shrug, and are about to joke about how that’s your duty when you realize with a start that you have not thanked him yet.

“Thank you, by the way, for taking care of this,” you say in a rush, gesturing to your bandaged side.

“Oh, I didn’t. A friend of mine—she’s a nurse—she came by and stitched you up. I wasn’t entirely sure I could trust myself to do it.”

“Oh,” you say, falling silent as you consider this, and yet again, he displays his uncanny ability to know what you are thinking.

“She’s just a friend,” he says, and pauses, thinking, and this time when he speaks, there is a certain weight to his words, “I guess deep down, there was a part of me that believed you were out there somewhere.”

The silence that falls between the two of you this time feels different, it is not a barrier that you are hesitant to cross: no, it’s like floating in the ocean, warm and companionable- home.

“There’s a lot we need to talk about, a lot I want to tell you. And so much I want to know about you too,” he says finally, taking your hands in his, and he sounds as if he already loves you.

“Yeah?” you ask softly, a blush rising in your cheeks.

“Yeah,” he replies, drawing your hands up to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “I want to know everything.”

You smile in reply, because you suppose you’re already in love with him too.


End file.
